Fasting for Ramadan
Photo courtesy of Ahmed Mohammed Salem Alleswas/Wikimedia Commons
On Feb. 18, the ninth and holiest month in the Islamic lunar calendar began, and with it the month-long period of fasting for Muslims across the world. The practice, one of the five pillars of Islam, is intended to honor the “belief that the Holy Quran was first revealed during this month, making Ramadan a time of deep reflection and heightened devotion,” according to the Islamic Info Center. The fast, per this website, is referred to as Sawm, which stretches from dawn until sunset wherein adults “abstain from eating, drinking, smoking, and marital relations.”
Last week, I embarked on my second year fasting for Ramadan as someone who is neither specifically Muslim nor generally religious. As an individual for whom fasting is not a spiritual obligation, I wanted to share some of the intent behind my participation, some of what I learned, and why I think it’s important to engage with traditions like these.
Having been raised in a Christian household, I was familiar only with the word “fasting” as it appeared in the Bible, with no concept of the sacred month of Ramadan and the practice of daily fasting for that period until I met a good friend who observed it with her family. I was particularly struck by her dedication because she and I did gymnastics class together, and she would often still be fasting—having had no food or water for approximately 12 hours—well into our late afternoon/early evening practices.
After she and I lost touch, I didn’t forget about Ramadan, but it never really became a part of my world again until I began seeing my partner. Raised Muslim, fasting for Ramadan has been a fixture in his life for years, and his dedication and commitment impressed me so deeply that I felt moved to try something new. I made the decision to fast with him for the first time last year, not only because I wanted to join in an experience so meaningful to my partner, but also because I wanted to understand more profoundly what fasting demands of a person and explore what clarity I might find in diverting my attention from food, water, and leisure.
Although I initially intended only to fast for one week, I ended up sticking it out the rest of the month—and it proved to be transformative. I learned a kind of discipline that I would never have imagined I’d be capable of, a brand of steadfast determination that simply did not exist in the world in which I was raised. I thought more critically about Islam as a religion and the values it shares, and I couldn’t help but feel humbled to take part in a tradition so rich with history that is observed with such grace, reverence, and devotion by millions.
The experience also pushed me to reexamine myself and my position in the world; it is a privilege to choose to fast, a reality which is made yet more vivid in the context of campaigns of starvation which have made the lack of nourishment in places like Palestine or Sudan not a month-long spiritual endeavor, but an ongoing threat to survival with no definite end. The pangs of hunger and thirst throughout a 12-hour stretch that nevertheless come with a guarantee of food and water at iftar to sate them are glaring reminders of the kind of hunger and thirst which promises no relief.
For these reasons, fasting is to my secular self, in part, a moral obligation. I think it’s crucial to value uncomfortable and difficult experiences so we don’t become numb to or complicit with suffering that is by no means elective. But I don’t see it as a moral obligation alone, because to do so would be to reduce the meaning of the act itself to one of performance and self-righteousness, especially as someone who does not participate in the faith. Here’s how I see it: I began fasting as a means of connecting with and understanding, on a more intimate level, a routine act of devotion which helped shape the person that I love; what I strive for then is engagement, understanding, community, curiosity, and mindfulness, all of which have made me more confident in myself, more cognizant of others, and more invested in what bridges us.
There is still, and there will always be, a great deal that I don’t know about Islam. But I do know that Ramadan is a tradition that moves, that challenges, that brings out the best in people. If you have friends or loved ones, coworkers or classmates, employers or professors who practice it, ask them questions. Learn ways that you can accommodate or support them; maybe try fasting for yourself. And to all those who are observing this holy month: Ramadan Kareem!